Snape's Smile
by MarieCiel
Summary: The chronicle of the efforts of Harry and Ron to get the fearsome potions master to smile. Why? Ron would like to know, too... My first HP fic! Please read, review and enjoy!


**Hello everyone! Thank you for stopping by to read my latest story... :)  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of Harry Potter; only the original concepts in this story.**

**I would also like to note that I dedicate this story to I. V. Green...hope you like it well enough!**

**This is, like, borderline crack fic. :D Just a crazy idea I had, and I ran with it. The only real pairing in here is Harry/Ginny. So please enjoy the long-suffering Ron, the overly-determined Harry, and Snape being...Snape. XD Please read, review and enjoy~!**

"Ron!"

A voice drifted on a warm breeze to reach the ears of the fifth-year student, none other than Ron Weasley. His mind barely registered this, much less what it had said- it might as well have been speaking in a foreign tongue. Then again, wouldn't his name be the same in any language? Nothing was making sense.

A serene smile pulled up the corners of Ron's lips; his eyes were gazing forward to the idyllic scene before him.

"Hey, Ron! Hey!"

The voice was beginning to become agitated. Why? Ron vaguely wondered. What could ever make one upset, here? He was surrounded on all sides by an endless sea of multicolored flowers, swaying with the rhythm of a silent song. Sunshine smiled down upon him, and he smiled back.

"Pay attention!" The voice demanded.

A dull pain flooded the back of his skull. Ron's hand drifted there, his fingertips barely brushing his fiery hair. "That wasn't very nice of you," He told the nearest flower, a little indignantly.

"I don't care!" The voice snapped back. This made Ron consider- was it that flower that was speaking to him? He squinted at it; it looked like a perfectly ordinary flower. After all, there it was, its yellow center smiling right back at him, just like usual, right? But it had smacked him in the back of the head! He frowned slightly. What an ill-mannered flower!

"Ron! Wake up!"

A muffled sound of annoyance was goaded from the fifth-year. Next came a groan, and with a great effort, his eyes slid open. The face of the chosen one, perhaps the most famous person alive and Ron's best friend, Harry Potter, filled his field of vision. As he blurred into focus, annoyance was written all over his face. Even the lightning bolt scar seemed to be eager to strike- and the quickest path to the ground was through Ron.

"You sleep like a bloody log." Harry stated flatly.

"What's eating you?" Ron demanded, rubbing his eyes, nebulous splotches of color the only remnants of his pleasant- if nonsensical- dream. "Good morning to you too," He muttered bitterly.

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed a bit melodramatically. "I need your help with something _very important._" He said the last two words slowly as if he were speaking to an irreverent first-year.

His sleepy friend did not find this amusing. He muttered to himself darkly as he pulled himself onto his elbows. "What do you want me to do?" The words 'this time' were not spoken aloud, but were heavily implied.

At once Ron was blinded, Harry disappearing to be replaced with impenetrable blackness. "Get dressed." He was instructed curtly. "Quickly." Ron jerked his robe off of his head, threw the covers from his bed and- grudgingly- did what he was told.

* * *

"Hey, wait up!" Ron clumsily rushed after Harry, who strode purposefully ahead. Their mismatched footsteps echoed around the deserted corridor, rebounding back to them, then away again. "You still haven't explained what this is all about! Why isn't Hermione coming too? Why do you need me? Why are we doing this so early, when no one is around? Is this against the rules? Why are you _walking so fast?_" Ron was filled with questions that Harry answered only with his cold turned back and hurried footsteps.

"Stop." Harry held out his arm and Ron nearly collided with it, skidding to a comical halt.

"What?"

"Shh!" Ron closed his mouth obediently, staring angrily at the back of his friend's head. He wanted nothing more than to stamp his foot and rush back to the dormitory, back to his delightful dream. Yet, something held him there- something in him wanted to help Harry, even though he had not yet been told just what that something was. Some thread of loyalty bound him, and he did not have the will to disobey that.

"Hear that?" Harry whispered a bit excitedly, finally glancing over his shoulder to Ron. His eyes were bright, sparkling with something that struck Ron with a feeling of insurmountable fear. "Now, listen. This is what I need you to do. Listen really carefully…" He grinned like a green-eyed Cheshire cat, and his ever-obedient friend swallowed visibly.

* * *

Clear, blank corridors- how very sweet. It was virtually a guarantee of no trouble.

The twisting passageways of the school were amorphous forms of blackness, only the occasional torch offering a dancing orange window into the usual scenery. But, it was this way that Severus Snape, the both feared and revered potions instructor, liked it best. No whimpering, whining, ignorant faces of children coming to surround him and drown him in their mindless chatter and pointless inquiries.

The potions master's footsteps reverberated from the stone walls, making it sound as if the corridor was filled with a crowd of Snapes, rather than only one. His pale face was drawn in its usual frown, a subtle downward curve of disapproval with the world.

Just then something made his footsteps falter, if only for the shortest moment- he was not alone? Farther down the monotonous stretch of the corridor there stood a lone student- his robes immediately identified him as a Gryffindor. What business had he wandering around here so early in the morning? Snape advanced on him mercilessly, closing the space between them with each perfectly measured step.

"Mr. Weasley." Snape greeted the student, drawing out the syllables of his name, making even that most familiar word sound malevolent. "Just what _are_ you doing here?"

Ron stared up at the potions master, his eyes impossibly large and round. He felt dwarfed by his teacher's dark, towering figure. "P-professor Snape, sir…" His voice cracked and squeaked several times. "I…" His memory seemed to fail him. Just what indeed was he doing here? There was a long pause, drawn out and made more intimidating by Snape's presence. "I came to…to speak to you…sir…" He remembered.

Snape raised an eyebrow, awaiting further explanation.

Ron gulped. His eyes pinched at the corners as if he was going to cry. "I wanted…t-to tell you…" He took a deep breath as if readying himself. "You have a wrackspurt…hiding in your pocket, sir…" With each word, his voice raised a nervous octave, until the word "sir" became a sort of suppressed shriek.

"Oh, _really_?" Snape blinked, showing no reaction. "And just what, Mr. Weasley, _is_ a wrackspurt?" His bottomless eyes flashed dangerously, spearing his student with their cold gaze.

Ron stood transfixed. His lips trembled, and no sound came out. He might as well have been that little first-year, being scolded by Filch for something he did not know was wrong.

"…I don't rightly know myself, sir…" He finally managed. The next words came out in a rush, "Sorry to bother you, sir, but I really must be going! Need to finish that Potions essay, you know!" It seemed like a good thing to say at the time; it wasn't until much later that he realized he had just admitted to his professor that he hadn't finished an essay yet that was due that same day.

With that, Ron broke into a run at a crazed speed. Snape watched his retreating back with something that might have been mild concern, only continuing on his way once the student had melted away into the darkness.

* * *

"A wrackspurt? In his pocket? Ron, you idiot! Wrackspurts don't live in people's pockets! They go in your ears and make your brain go all fuzzy!" Harry threw up his arms in exasperation.

Ron was a bit too distracted at that moment to ask where he had ever gotten the notion of a "wrackspurt" from. "Well, you try saying that with Snape staring down…" He started to reply defensively, but Harry cut him off-

"We're going to try again, and this time you will do better!" He said sharply, collapsing into one of the overstuffed armchairs in the Gryffindor commons. It was still early, and they were alone. Not even the faintest rustlings of barely waking students could be heard. The sun was only peeking over the horizon.

"If you want it done that badly, why don't you do it yourself?" Ron demanded.

"I can't do it- it's Snape! He hates me!"

"Well you know bloody well he hates me too!"

Harry's only response was to make some grandiose gesture of frustration in the air. Whatever he was trying to communicate, Ron could not decipher it.

"This is too important to mess up, alright? This is why I need your help, Ron. You're my best friend." He finally said. With a heavy sigh, he stood and headed toward the Fat Lady's portrait. "Let's try something else."

Ron's legs were moving on their own, following him. "W-wait! Harry…you still haven't told me what we're trying to do yet!"

* * *

"Y-you…you want to do _what_? Why?" Ron asked incredulously, and Harry shushed him swiftly. "Why…?" He asked again, more quietly.

"We're trying to get Snape to _smile_." His friend whispered. "It's very important."

"Yes, but…what would ever make you want to do a thing like that? Just because you think it's cute or something!"

Harry sighed again, as if he had explained this many times before- which, incidentally, he had not. "I want…to get _Snape_…to _smile_…because Ginny said…she would go on a date with me when Snape smiles."

There was a stunned silence.

"Woah, Harry, hey! Look, now I know you're still getting over Cho and all that rubbish, but really, do you need to go after another girl so soon? And why the hell does it have to be my sister?"

"Shut up! Shut! Up!" Harry said in a fierce whisper, and pointed out to the scene before them.

The two of them had ventured out to the Three Broomsticks just before lunchtime, Harry telling Hermione that they needed some time by themselves to talk about, you know, guy stuff. Stuff she just wouldn't want to listen to. She had gotten the message and left them by themselves. Though she was a little offended, it was true- she _didn't_ want to listen to them talk about guy stuff. She figured they were just going to check out girls or something.

Presently Harry and Ron were crouched uncomfortably behind a small armchair, seated by the fireplace in the corner. They had a clear view of an empty table with two seats, and someone was approaching it. Harry watched with keen interest and Ron tried to look away, though his eyes kept drifting back.

A folded-up pink note sat on the table, quietly awaiting a reader. If one looked at the note closely enough, one would recognize it as Harry's own handwriting, though he had written it slowly in an attempt to make it neater. It was, however, signed from Professor Trelawney.

It was none other than this same woman that sat down at the table, bouncing a little with muted excitement. Her magnified eyes shone with childish delight. She did not touch the note.

The three of them- Harry, Ron and Professor Trelawney- did not have long to wait. The bell over the door chimed cheerfully, quite at contrast with the person entering.

It was Snape.

He glanced around the Three Broomsticks, his dark eyes settling upon Professor Trelawney in the corner. He strode toward the table, standing beside it for a few tense moments before finally deciding to take a seat.

They said nothing. While waiting for his companion to say something, Snape carefully picked up the small pink note and opened it. As soon as it was fully unfurled, a small throng of red and pink hearts drifted up from its surface toward the ever-disapproving face of the potions master. He blinked once and they all popped simultaneously. It was a rather depressing sight. He replaced the note on the table.

"You wished to speak to me?" His greeting.

"Oh, yes! I got a note from you, Severus! I just knew that there was something about you, something _big_ going to happen!" She gestured excitedly.

Snape remained unimpressed. "Are you short on supplies, Professor Trelawney? Really, this sort of matter we could have addressed at the school. There was no need to come all the way to…_this place_." The last two words bore a touch of bitterness, of disdain.

"Oh, no! Oh, no, no, no!" Trelawney laughed. "Nothing like that!" Her laughing became louder until it became a high-pitched, girlish giggle. A few people at nearby tables turned to see the source of this maniac laughter, but as soon as they caught sight of Snape, they returned their attention to whatever they were doing before. "So, what do you think of my reading? Yesterday, you know. When I predicted that you were someone special! That something good would happen to you!"

"I find it utterly ludicrous." Snape said flatly. "Now, if there was nothing else you wished to discuss…?" He made like he was going to leave.

"No, no wait! Severus…" She tilted her head. "I don't think it's ludicrous! I think you _are_ something special!"

"Good day, Professor." Snape turned, his cloak fanning out behind him, and left.

Trelawney was struck speechless. She stared at the door, as if waiting for him to come back. "Well, rats!" She pounded her fists on her knees. With a frustrated _humph,_ she left as well.

* * *

Harry was once again disappointed. Ron seemed to have found the exchange rather fascinating…in a repulsive way.

"That was rather unlike Professor Trelawney, I guess…" Ron said mournfully, staring into the depths of his butterbeer. "But did you really think that setting up a blind date with _her_ would make Snape smile?"

"I was willing to try it."

Ron frowned. "You know, Harry…I don't want to rain on your parade, but really…when my sister said that thing she said…she meant like, she would date you when pigs fly." He was becoming less and less concerned with the idea of Harry dating his sister, and more and more concerned with what he would be asked to do next.

"I can make that happen." Harry said, a little too seriously.

"No, no! Uh…well…my sister likes you a lot, but I think…she probably didn't…ah…" He hung his head. "Blimey, Harry, you're taking this a bit too far, don't you think?"

"I'm willing to do anything!" His friend replied. "This means we will have to try yet another tactic. Ron?"

"What…?" Ron was getting tired of hearing that hopeful, friendly tone.

"Let's go to the potions classroom. Just…come on, come on!"

* * *

"I…love…pud…ding…" Ron said aloud as he slowly wrote out the words on the blackboard. He moved down to the next line- "I…love…"

Beside him, Harry was doing the same thing. When Snape finally returned to his classroom, he would find the blackboard covered in the phrase "I love pudding!" over and over.

"Couldn't we have just done this with our wands?" Ron complained.

"It's better this way." Harry said. This did not satisfy Ron, but he didn't voice this.

"You know, Harry…I'm starting to think you're getting a little desperate here!" He tried to sound reasonable, but tinges of fatigue and annoyance were quite evident. "I really don't think Snape will find this funny. When he comes in here, he's going to go mad!"

"It's…worth…a…try!" Harry stressed, dotting the exclamation point with a little more vigor than was necessary. Ron flinched as the chalk met the blackboard.

"Why teachers even use these is beyond me…" Ron muttered to himself. "All it's good for is giving students lines during detention and pranks like this…which will get us in detention!" He added a bit more loudly. Harry paid him no mind, still writing away.

"What an excellent idea, Mr. Weasley." The boys froze. Slowly they both turned to look over their shoulders, to the forbidding figure of Snape. His dark eyes seemed even darker and harder than usual, as if ready to swallow the troublesome students whole. "Though I have no doubts about who the facilitator of this is…you shall both replace the chalk and come down here."

As they approached, heads bowed a little in shame of being caught doing such a ridiculous thing, Harry could not help but check- the look on Snape's face was most definitely nothing close to a smile.

* * *

Ron and Harry sat at the two desks closest to the blackboard, where Snape stood watching them carefully. Ron scribbled madly on the piece of parchment; Harry wrote more slowly and deliberately.

"This is your bloody fault…" Ron muttered.

"Well, it's your bloody sister…" Harry shot back.

"Weasley, Potter!" Snape snapped at them, and they likewise snapped to attention. "I suggest you work diligently…once you are done with your lines, you will be washing my blackboard."

The two knew better than to groan or make any complaints. They muttered in unison, "Yes, sir…" and continued with their lines. Harry silently begged Ginny to be kinder- just one date was all he asked… Ron, meanwhile, was wishing to return to that field of smiling flowers, his dreamscape.

"'I will pay my instructors the respect that they deserve' one thousand times…" Ron muttered even more quietly.

"Why are _you_ complaining?" Harry demanded under his breath.

In two strides, Snape was standing over them, looming. He placed his hands on the backs of their heads and shoved them closer to the paper. With that, he ripped his fingers away again, then proceeded to stalk over to his office, where he could watch them while getting some work done.

Seeing his two students, ever the troublemakers, serving the proper punishment for their actions…

…The corners of Snape's lips curved upward in a satisfied little smile.

~END~


End file.
